u guys will never let this series die ghskfnnfh but uhhh i only meant to write 3 parts so ://///// but if more people want a part 4..... i might consider it :) since i have all this free time anyway :) but mAYBE
W: some swearing and suggestive content.
WC: 2.7k words.
AN: i... am so sorry lol. reminder that i love y’all sm <3
You startle awake, flushed against him. The living room has gotten darker, moonlight coming in from the terrace casting ambiguous shadows on the walls. He's super hot, his chest heaving up and down with each breath, but his heartbeat wraps you in a cloud of tranquility. It's grounding and actively fist-fighting your dawning sobriety. Pieces of that evening struggle to make a coherent whole. All that lingers is a hollow feeling of regret.
Dawn is approaching. For both your sake, you figure it's better to leave before he wakes. Fast track the inevitable and all. But a single glance in his direction crumbles that resolve. His face is buried in your neck, the shallow exhale of his breath hot but gentle against your skin, the domesticity of it all as mocking as it is divine.
As you consolidate this moment into memory, this quiet bubble where the population constitutes solely of the both of you, you mourn what could have been.
Kissing the top of his head, you utter a quick apology and extricate yourself from his hold. He stirs but otherwise remains asleep, burying his face into a throw pillow instead. Using moonlight to guide you, quietly, you tip-toe around his living room in search of your clothes. Having forgotten where he’d discarded them, heat rising to your cheeks at the memory of his hands gliding up your stomach before pulling your shirt over your head and across the room, you momentarily lose yourself in the task.
“Leaving me again?"
Taken aback by his voice, so much louder in the stillness, you stifle a gasp, and because you can't quite muster the courage to turn around and face him, you remain unmoving and pretend to have not heard him.
All the while, your heart is hammering against your rib cage.
"Come 'ere," he murmurs, voice firm. He sits up on the couch, the blanket just barely covering his lap. Moonlight hits his bare chest just right, seemingly illuminating him from within, as if his internal organs were slathered in glow-in-the-dark paint.
He leans forward, on his elbows, and something in his hand catches your attention. Your panties. Meeting his gaze for the first time that night, you notice the heavy despair in his eyes, obscured by fatigue. He motions you forward.
The last thing you want is proximity—but you comply; anything to ease the growing tension. Standing before him, stark naked, you feel his free hand rest on your waist and his lips press against your stomach. Had he done this 48 hours ago, it wouldn't have elicited anything other than genuine fondness. But now, your knees almost give out at the simple display of affection. You're beginning to notice the questionable behaviour you once weren't cognizant to.
Holding onto his shoulder for support, you lift one leg, then the other, and carefully step into your panties. He, then, pulls you onto his lap.
He leans in and almost reflexively, you pull back, just enough to create some distance but not enough for him to notice, afraid he'd try to kiss you. You feel ashamed and embarrassed almost immediately and to make up for it, you don't resist when he coaxes your arms around his neck. Gingerly, you let them sit there.
You feel self-conscious, sitting on his lap, topless, the heat of his body a constant reminder of what had transpired a mere few hours ago. The fact that he's completely bare underneath the blanket makes your head swim. Even more so the fact that you could peel it back, exposing him, and he wouldn't object. Because in this very moment, he was yours. As long as the sky remained as dark as night, he, as a whole, belonged to you. And you wish so bad you could stretch that time frame. Make it last as long as possible.
There is so much that needs to be said yet nothing seems.... appropriate.
Are we okay? dances on the tip of his tongue. But define okay. Does it encapsulate the damage done to a longstanding friendship all in the name of a little fun, free of inhibition and full of alcohol, and the acceptance of said damage?
He settles for, "I don't regret what we did."
Neither do you. You don't regret it—but you do. It's all so complicated and confusing. And for fear of adding more confusion to the mix, you opt for complete candor.
Tentatively, you lean forward, pressing yourself against his bare chest, and let your lips brush against the shell of his ear, voice weak. "Your friend… earlier…" you begin, unsure, and let the words trail off instead.
He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you glossed over what he said. You feel his hands roam your back, soothingly, as he hums his puzzlement, momentarily ignorant of your words.
"Yesterday. That woman." You clarify.
He hums again, this time in acknowledgment. His hands wander down your waist and thighs.
You decide to rip off the band-aid. "Did you have sex with her?"
His movements halt. He tips his head back in an attempt to make eye contact but you tighten your arms around his neck, restricting the endeavor. You're too embarrassed to stare at him in the eye.
You realize you'd rather not know. If he answers in the affirmative, how will that make you feel? "Oh God, forget I just asked that." You feel hot. You wish you could disappear, along with the desperate words you'd just muttered. "It's none of my business, anyway." He senses what you're about to do and wraps his arms around your waist, making it near impossible for you to maneuver off his lap.
"No, not again." You can hear the smirk on his face. He only loosens his hold when he feels you relax but not before pulling you almost flush against him. "Is this why you abandoned me yesterday, you thought I had just had sex with someone?"
Placing a hand on his chest—ignoring the erratic beating of his heart—you murmur, breathlessly, "sorry about that, by the way. I feel like shit. Leaving you like that when you needed me... That wasn't cool." You keep averting your gaze, meeting his fleetingly before letting your eyes skitter in any other direction.
Grabbing your face with both hands, he pulls you in, letting his forehead rest against yours. "I didn't. I didn't have sex with her." Then, as an afterthought, "I haven't had sex in a while."
You let the information sink in while simultaneously fighting the urge to avoid his stare. There's a powerful desire to be believed reflected in his eyes that grips at your heart. You believe him. Of course, you believe him. How desperate you’ve been to dispel any doubt! His revelation is like a breath of fresh air, blowing away all the anxiety and fear that's made a home of your heart.
It all falls into place. You hadn't been able to see it on his face that afternoon. The red tint to his cheeks. The pep in his steps. The dazed-like glimmer... He hadn't hooked up with her. How could you have turned an eye to such glaring signs? Because of the scent. And he did admit to there being a woman in his apartment. Were they really just friends? And what had he invited her over for? To hang out? Just like he had invited you over to hang out?
Your head is beginning to swim. His hands feel hot against your cheeks. To keep from blubbering all the questions popping into your head and making a bigger fool of yourself, more mindless rambling ensues. "I wasn't there for you and you didn't deserve that. It was selfish. I was being an asshole—"
"Baby," he interrupts, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones.
The term of endearment catches you off guard. It seems to catch him off guard, as well, at least enough for his hands to flinch and self-consciously fold in his lap, like they'd just been singed. It sounds different in a non-sexual setting (you blush at the memory that pops into your head: pet-name rolling down Shawn’s tongue as he pounds into you from behind). It sounds official, sober, and like it has a whole other meaning.
You realize something fundamental has shifted. That line, the one that was in danger of being eviscerated, exists only in your rear-view mirror now, a reminder of what used to be.
"I'm not mad," he continues, his voice careful. "You had your reasons, I get it."
You stare down at his hands and nod, deep in thought. You interlock your fingers and bring them up to your mouth. "So, you haven't?" His words keep ringing in your ears, like echoes in a bare room. "Had sex in a while?"
"I haven't had sex in a while."
You brush your lips against his knuckles. "W-Why not?"
He shrugs noncommittally. Then redirects the question. “Have you?”
"Had sex in a while? No."
"Why not?"
You turn his hand over and let the back rest against your cheek. You give him the same shrug, eliciting a faint smile, and inch your head to the side, softly kissing the back of his hand. He tugs you forward, circling his free arm around your waist. You give his hand a final kiss before letting him pull you in. His nose languidly brushing against yours, quietly, he says, "it bothered you." You're not sure what he's referring to but your heartbeat quickens nonetheless, bracing itself for something you weren’t privy to. "The thought of me sleeping with her."
"No, it didn't." You try to be as nonchalant as possible.
"You're a terrible liar."
"It's just... I thought—" You lean back, out of immediate reach. "I heard, well, read things."
He frowns. "What things?"
"All the girls you… y'know.” Your voice quiets, the last word barely audible.
"What girls, ba—hon?" Then something dawns on him and it clicks. His shoulders sag. "How do you even know about that?"
"The Internet."
You glimpse at his face. He's visibly upset. "You know better than that, Y/N."
"So that woman...?" You hate this line of questioning. You hate having to invade his privacy in this manner. But it's all on the table so you might as well straighten the whole thing out. No reason to keep assuming things that may hold no truth to them. "The older woman...?"
Something like hurt crosses his features but he's quick to turn his face to the side, his jaw tightening. Not only have you allowed yourself to feed into the speculations but he can't understand the shame and resentment attached to your words. "I slept with a 25-year-old woman, yes."
So, the rumors about Hailey are also probably true. It hurts. Because it couldn't have been that long ago. What's his definition of a while? A week. A month. You begin to shift in his lap. Embarrassed. And a little humiliated. Emotions you'd never really felt in his presence before but emotions that have consumed you more times than you can count as of late.
"I need my bra." You have no right to be upset. Nor feel entitled to an explanation. He's an adult. An attractive adult with a sex drive. What did you expect? For him to magically correctly guess that you've had feelings for him since you were children? And for him to abstain himself from sex in the hopes that one day you would finally come clean and the two of you could live happily ever after? Besides, he would never hold your sexual history against you. So, what made it acceptable for you to do so?
"Please stop doing that," but his protest is futile. You climb off his lap and self-consciously cross your arms over your chest before stumbling in the dark for your bra and shirt. "You're mad at me because I had sex with an older woman?"
"You just said you haven't had sex in a while."
"That was months ago. Several months."
You grab onto something that looks like a shirt. It's his. You decide to pull it over your chest nonetheless. It smells like him. Overwhelmingly so. Your heart sinks at the realization that no matter what you do, Shawn does not and will never belong to you. No matter if you wear him or sleep with him.
"You're punishing me for having slept with other women? What's the big fucking deal?"
The pain in his voice slices through you like a sharp knife. You continue to fish about for your jeans. It's eerily quiet but his question continues to ring in your ears, taunting words that have been wilting on the tip of your tongue for ages dying for the opportunity to tumble down. The presence of a comfortable heat behind you indicates his newfound proximity and soon, strong arms wrap around you. He presses you against his chest, the latter warm and inviting, and you melt into him. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"
Your heart rate picks up almost instantly. A stark contrast to the slow rhythmic beating of his heart against your back. You swallow, your throat dry, hoping to push down whatever string of words trying to claw past your esophagus. There's a desperation attached to those words—a desperation you've had to suppress for the last several years. You begin to think that perhaps this is the end of the road. That there is no turning back. There is no friendship to salvage, the latter having evaporated the moment you slept together, destroying whatever hope you had to fall back into old ways. His arms tighten around you. It's almost therapeutic. He's always been a good anchor. You can't remember why telling him had been such a bad idea. This is Shawn. Your best friend. The few people who had been there for you again and again. Yet you've kept this secret—this all consuming, toxic secret that had done nothing but drive a wedge in the friendship.
"It bothered me."
"Why?”
The words are stuck, gathered on the tip of your tongue but cannot physically slip past. What if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings? What if tonight meant nothing more than a hookup to him? What if your profession of love upsets him? You’d be fundamentally altering the dynamics of your friendship without any sort of heads up, something he never signed up for. He’d be blindsided. That was a selfish thing to do. Suddenly… you remember why telling him was such a bad idea.
You turn around in his arms, opting to wallow in the heat of his embrace a little longer and circle your arms around him. You hold onto him for deal life. You hold onto him for present you and for future you. Future you will undoubtedly need it the most.
His heartbeat is no longer slow and rhythmic. It’s fast and erratic. He’s bracing himself for something, it seems. You gaze up at him, soul crushing at the fear reflecting back in his eyes.
“Why?” He repeats, voice trembling.
He’s caught on and willing you to say it. To put those three little words out there, to lay them bare and be vulnerable. To be honest. It sounds nice in theory but in practice... Maybe you’re a coward and will continue to adamantly guard your heart because the alternative promises the possibility of having your heart broken by the one person who can cause irreversible damage. Maybe deep down, you don’t believe him and stand by previously made assumptions. Maybe painting him in this unsavory light will make it easier for you distance yourself from him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
You stand on your tiptoes and kiss his neck, lips lingering on the sensitive skin a beat too long. Arms loosen. He doesn’t protest as you walk over to grab your purse by the coffee table. You catch sight of your jeans tucked beneath the piece of furniture and pull them on hurriedly. You’re full-on crying now, desperately attempting to muffle each sob.
Hand cradling the doorknob, you pause, a new wave of hesitation threatening to pull you under. Glancing in his direction—something you immediately regret—you hold his gaze, rapidly blinking the tears rimming your eyes, afraid to lose even a millisecond of this moment, and try to convey the sincerest of apologies. At last, you let the door creak shut, catching a final glimpse of Shawn’s flushed face and the lone tear that slides down his cheek.
W: explicit sexual content & unprotected sex.
WC: 1.5k words.
AN: thank u for reading !
Shawn keeps tossing and turning, rousing you from sleep, only to settle back down a few seconds later. He does it again but this time, he also pulls you back against his chest, his skin warm. You figure he needs you pressed against him in order to finally sleep comfortably, so, after a beat or two, you melt into him and drift back to sleep.
You feel his lips touch the skin of your neck and his hand grip your waist. It’s nice so you don’t complain. In all honesty, it doesn’t bother you that he’s being so disruptive. It’s Sunday tomorrow. You’ll have all the time in the world to sleep in with him. You weren’t really sleeping, either. It was one of those dreamless nights.
He circles a hand around your neck, his grip gentle. You whimper. Tilting your head to the side, he kisses the corner of your mouth before further invading your personal space and giving you a proper kiss, your lips immediately parting to allow his tongue to push past. Your tongues lick and explore each other’s mouth with urgency.
Much too soon, he pulls back. You try to chase after his lips but he gently presses down on your neck, releasing his hold only after you’ve settled back down against the pillows. He then lets the same hand travel down your chest, pulling down your camisole so it bunches around your waist, the air kissing your exposed chest. You’d rather he was kissing your chest. He caresses your breasts, his larger hand fondling each one unhurriedly, his lips ghosting over your shoulder. Your chest is heaving up and down, each breath ragged.
Shawn leans in and takes a nipple in his mouth, the latter deliciously warm. He swirls his tongue around it, his hand gripping your other breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers. He’s pressing his erection against your ass, his hips moving slowly. Eager, you push back and start grinding against him. You enjoy the quiet noises he makes in response. He gently bites down on your nipple before pressing his tongue flat against it. An insatiable desire to be wrecked by him overpowers you. You can’t wait to be at his mercy and let him have complete control of you and your body.
“Baby,” you whisper. He gives the breast he had in his mouth a final squeeze then hooks his thumb in the waistline of your panties and gently drags them down and off your legs. He runs a hand up and down your bare thigh, leaning in for another kiss. He has you so wrapped up in the kiss, the softness of his lips and the expertise of his tongue as it massages yours, that you completely miss him ridding of his own boxers and lifting up your thigh.
He rubs the tip of his length between your folds at an excruciatingly slow pace. “You’re so wet,” he whispers against your lips. You gasp into his mouth as he presses the head in, his hand flying up to wrap around your neck once again, hooking his arm beneath your knee in the process so that you’re spread open for him. You let out a strangled whine, the room suddenly unbearably hot. He nibbles your bottom lip, the flesh red and swollen, as he pushes in a little further. You’re overwhelmed by the way his cock stretches you out.
His movements still as he lets you adjust, focusing all of his attention on your lips until he’s got you in a trance. Everything blurs around you, Shawn remaining all that is visible. After a few minutes, impatience coupled with desperation settle in and you plead for him to fill you up. So, he does. He pushes his cock in, still slowly, gauging your reaction, until his hips are flush against your ass. You’re reminded of how big he is. You clench around him and he lets out a grunt, his hips bucking reflexively.
He holds himself back, his hips immobile as he showers you with careful attention, pressing gentle kisses all over your face, a sharp contrast to the obscenity displayed moments earlier. You’re putty in his hands by the time he decides to begin thrusting. You melt into him as his cock slides in and out, a string of moans tumbling past your lips.
“You feel so good. So warm and tight.” Heat pools in your gut, your body reacting positively to his words. His lips continue to taste the flushed skin of your face and you notice that he’s studying you, taking every facial expression into account so he knows when he’s hit a sweet spot, then hitting that spot repeatedly. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your skull, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You never want him to stop.
“Doing so good, baby. Taking my dick so well.” He praises. He picks up speed, fucking into you a little more carelessly. You’re clenching around him more often now, his cock thick as it slides across your walls. The noises coming out of your mouth are incessant and increasing in volume. “I need you to be a good girl and shut the fuck up, baby, okay?” Shawn grits between clenched teeth, his grip tightening around your neck. You whimper, his stern demeanor so incredibly hot. Nevertheless, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making any more noise. He’d never tell you to be quiet at home. Hotel rooms, however, are different.
You realize it’s impossible to keep quiet. Not when every thrust of his hips sends a jolt of ecstasy through you. So, you turn around, disturbing the rhythm he’d fallen into and drape a leg over his waist, remaining nice and open for him. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and feel his hand travel down the length of your back and down the curve of your ass. He raises his hand and brings it down hard on your cheek, the sound sharp as it rings out. A whine startles out of you. Burrowing your face deeper into his neck, the faint smell of cologne and sweat heavenly, you round an arm around him, fingernails scratching red angry lines down his back as he smacks your ass twice more.
He gently caresses the reddened flesh of your cheek then reaches between your bodies to realign himself, groaning as he stretches you open once more. The broken sounds that leave your mouth are muffled by his neck. You press your body flush against his and feel his moans rather than hear them. Mouth latching onto his neck, you suck and bite fresh bruises onto the sensitive skin, admiring the adorning colours.
“Fuck,” he drawls and runs his fingers through your hair before grabbing the side of your face and pressing his mouth sloppily against yours, swallowing your sobs as he fucks you hard and deep. A muffled and incoherent chorus of babybabybaby is all you can utter as your mind blanks, the entirety of your being attuned to the ruthless slamming of his hips. You clench and spasm around him as he pushes you over the edge. Grunting, he maneuvers you on your back and continues to roll his hips into you, burrowing himself much deeper at this angle. You reach out for him and watch as he lowers himself, meeting you halfway, lips locking in a heated and messy kiss. His moaning is a little less inhibited, an indication he’s about to orgasm.
You admire his face, how beautifully wrecked he looks, and can’t help but kiss his rosy cheeks, your fingers combing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, tugging harshly. His breath hitches and he whines low and long as you do it again.
The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. He emits an almost animalistic snarl at the base of his throat, gripping your hip and shifting a little so he’s pounding into you, hitting you just right every time. “Your pussy is wrapped so fucking good around my cock, baby,” he pants, huskiness coating his tone. His words travel straight to your core and you lose it, back arching and head falling back in ecstasy as you unravel beneath him. You fist the bedsheets, gasped moans spilling out of your mouth as his thrusts become more erratic, his cock twitching.
“Come inside me.”
“Oh, fuck.” A deep groan rips through his throat and you feel his cock pulsate as he releases his load inside you, warmth spreading through your gut. You rock your hips in unison with his, riding out each other’s high.
He pulls out and slumps against you, holding himself up by his elbows so not to crush you. You’re both breathing audibly, skin glistening under the moon’s glare. Fingers are light as they trail over the line of his shoulder, your heart fluttering as you take him in. His head is resting on your chest and you notice his breathing has slowed. Just like that, he’d fallen asleep. You run your fingers gently through his disheveled curls and focus on the slow rhythmic beating of his heart against you, sleep gripping you soon after.
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